


And when we danced (oh what a dance)

by elanorelle



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-28
Updated: 2013-07-28
Packaged: 2017-12-21 16:43:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/902551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elanorelle/pseuds/elanorelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>They don't get back together over the summer.</i> When Blaine moves to New York in the fall, Kurt takes it upon himself to help them make a necessary step towards being a couple again.</p><p>Written for the Kurt/Blaine Reversebang 2013.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And when we danced (oh what a dance)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [Kurt/Blaine Reversebang 2013](http://kbl-reversebang.livejournal.com/), and the beautiful artwork created by [beeemyhoney](http://beeemyhoney.tumblr.com), which is included within the fic. I know I haven't done it justice at all, but I did my best.
> 
> Spoilers for all aired episodes, obviously, and because it feels kind to warn for things like this right now: though this is set in a future that still contains Finn, he does not appear and there's pretty much no overt reference to him anywhere in the text.
> 
> Title from "Pass This On" by The Knife.

"I thought green would probably go better with my colouring, but personally I prefer purple. What do you think?"

Kurt blinks, looking up to meet Blaine's expectant gaze. "I'm sorry?"

"I want to know whether you think green or purple would be a better choice."

Kurt frowns, still confused. "Choice for what?" he says.

"My hair."

"What about your hair?"

Blaine laughs, shaking his head in what Kurt thinks is more amusement than exasperation.

"Kurt, have you been listening to anything I've said?"

Kurt is very aware that he hasn't: he knows perfectly well that he's actually been staring distractedly at the slightly open collar of Blaine's shirt for the last several minutes at least.

It's definitely a problem.

He offers Blaine a weak smile, wraps his hands around the coffee cup that's now tepid but still half-full.

"Sorry," he says sheepishly. 

"Something on your mind?" Blaine asks, his expression turning slightly more serious.

 _You_ , Kurt thinks. _You you you always you._

He smiles at Blaine some more and says: "Nothing another latte couldn't fix," even though the prospect of sitting here with Blaine and his stupid open collar any longer feels unnecessarily masochistic.

Fortunately (or unfortunately? Kurt's not entirely sure at this point), Blaine's brow furrows with regret and he says: "I wish I could, but I've got to get to vocal class. I'll see you later, though?"

"Sure," Kurt says. "Hoarders marathon this weekend, right?"

"Wouldn't miss it," Blaine says, grinning. He stands up, gathering his things together.

"Blaine," Kurt suddenly thinks to ask, reaching out to touch Blaine's arm. "You're not really going to dye your hair _green_ are you?"

A strange expression (disappointment?) passes over Blaine's face for a second, then he grins again and says: "Or purple."

" _Blaine_."

Blaine just rolls his eyes, then leans in to give Kurt a quick kiss on the cheek before he leaves.

"Purple would look _terrible_ , by the way," Kurt calls after him as he goes.

Blaine doesn't look back, but Kurt can hear him laughing.

Once he's passed out of view, heading up the stairs towards the vocal studio, Kurt lets out a deep sigh and slumps down in his chair mournfully.

He really needs to do something about the Blaine situation.

.

They hadn't gotten back together over the summer, mostly because Kurt still hadn't felt ready, and if they were going to make it work a second time round, Kurt would prefer to do it when they were able to actually _be_ together rather than trying to keep the whole thing afloat via texts and emails and missed phone calls once again.

So they'd stayed friends, and while that had been simple enough when they'd been in separate states, once Blaine had come to New York and started at NYADA, things had gotten more complicated.

Blaine's living across town with Sam, Tina and Artie in a wheelchair-friendly apartment it had taken the four of them all summer to find, so it's not like they're neighbours or anything: with Blaine at NYADA, though, it had been inevitable they'd see one another, and without too much effort they've fallen back into old habits of TV nights and coffee dates, albeit in a much more platonic fashion than before. They even have a class together—a required freshman level "stage movement" course that's only available in the Fall semester, meaning that Kurt spends every Tuesday afternoon watching Blaine bend and flex his body in a way that makes it very hard to concentrate on what he's supposed to be learning about his own.

They're still not back together, but now they're back to seeing each other so often, every time they do it becomes more and more clear to Kurt that what he wants is for them to be _them_ again, that he's ready to take the chance and just _try_ because he loves Blaine enough to know it's worth the risk they might hurt each other again. He also knows he's willing to put the work in to make sure that they don't.

The only problem is that he's not entirely sure if that's what Blaine wants, anymore.

For months, he'd been painfully aware of how much Blaine wanted him back, how desperate he was to make amends and show Kurt he could trust him again. When the worst of the hurt and betrayal had ebbed away over time, he'd also been in no doubt over how much Blaine still loved him: it's the reason why Kurt had allowed himself to give into temptation at Mr Schue's failed first wedding, because even if this was a terrible idea of the first order, he knew that Blaine _loved_ him and so being with him again couldn't be so bad, could it?

But now that he's moved to New York, Kurt's become unsure of whether or not Blaine's still in that same place. Ever since Regionals back in the spring, Blaine hasn't said anything to Kurt about getting back together, or even made much reference to the time when they were. He's still physically demonstrative, as he is with everyone, but that special kind of open body language and affectionate behaviour he used to reserve for Kurt now seems decidedly muted. 

Kurt knows that Blaine's been waiting a long time, and he also knows that if one of them is going to take steps to put them back together, it's almost certainly going to have to be him. Kurt _wants_ it to be him: now that he knows for sure that he's ready.

It's just that by this point, so long apart and now a month of being "just friends" with no positive sign from Blaine that he wants them to be more, Kurt isn't sure he knows how to go about making them a couple again.

.

"I don't really understand what the problem is," Rachel says when he brings the subject up over dinner that night. It's Santana's night to cook, which means take-out, of course, but at least it's edible, which is more than can be said for the bizarre concoctions Rachel usually comes up with on her nights. "Can't you just ask him out on a date? That ought to clue him in."

Kurt pokes at the remainder of his pad thai with his chopsticks. "It's not that simple," he says. "I mean, what if he says no?"

Rachel raises her eyebrows. "You're worried about _Blaine_ saying no?"

Kurt drops his chopsticks to his plate with a clatter and crosses his arms over his chest defensively. "Maybe."

"Blaine who wrote you love letters all through the summer and sent you flowers when Vogue decided to run your feature on men's skirts on the website last month?"

Kurt sighs. "For the last time, Rachel, they were just _letters_ , okay? Blaine considers letter-writing a lost art, he just thought it would be fun." In fairness, most of them _had_ just been regular letters, but one or two had definitely gotten a little more personal than others, and Kurt had to admit—if not out loud—that those were the ones he'd spent hours poring over, reading and re-reading every affectionate turn of phrase and expression of love, however indirect, trying to make sense of his own feelings. 

"Well, either way I think you're definitely worrying over nothing. Blaine loves you, of course he'll say yes."

Santana picks that exact moment to come back from the bathroom. "Oh my god, don't tell me you're proposing already? What is it with you two and poor teen engagement decisions?"

"I'm not proposing, Santana, don't be absurd," Kurt says. 

"No, I'm just advising Kurt on how best to let Blaine know he's interested in getting back together," Rachel says, reaching over to pat Kurt absently on the shoulder.

Santana sits back down in her chair, cocking her head to one side in confusion that's probably feigned. "Wait, you guys _aren't_ together right now?"

"No," Kurt says slowly. "We're not."

"So you mean I have to constantly put up with your inane reality television on incessant repeat and watch the two of you argue over who's going to pay for the coffee _this_ time and you guys aren't even a damn _couple_ at the moment? Gross." Looking genuinely offended, Santana picks up the leftover carton of fried rice and stabs at a chunk of pineapple with one chopstick.

After a second's silence, Rachel turns back to Kurt with what he calls her "caring and actively listening" expression in place again. "I have an idea, why don't you sing to him? We could go to Callbacks—"

Kurt cringes, shaking his head. "Pretty sure it's still going to be a while before we can go _there_ again without it being anything but awkward and depressing. Besides, public serenades are really more Blaine's thing than mine."

Rachel takes a sip from her glass of iced tea before offering up another idea. "You could send _him_ a letter?" she says. "Or flowers, maybe?"

Kurt considers this for a moment or two. "Red tulips would mean a declaration of love. Or jonquils might be better, they mean affection returned. Though who knows if I can even _get_ jonquils anywhere at this time of year—"

"Or," Santana interrupts, stabbing another piece of pineapple and gesturing emphatically with it, "you could forget fruity flower-language or whatever, man up and just ask Blaine to go out Friday night. Then, you can just get shitfaced and drunkenly confess your feelings like any normal person would do, snivelling pathetically into whichever depressingly wholesome bowtie Anderson will inevitably be wearing, and ending the night with ill-advised and no doubt _painfully_ amateurish sex that nonetheless re-seals the bond of nausea-inducing love between the two of you."

Kurt glares over at her, trying to decide which part of what she's just said is most offensive and therefore most worthy of a scathing retort.

"You know, Santana's probably right," Rachel says, so that Kurt is forced to turn his unimpressed look back at her instead.

"Excuse me?"

Rachel rolls her eyes, like _Kurt's_ the one being ridiculous, which is just great, really. "Well not about the snivelling or the sex being amateurish—from what you've shared with me in the past it sounds like you and Blaine have no problems in that department—"

"Rachel!" Kurt doesn't miss the sudden interest flaring up on Santana's face, but chooses to ignore it.

"—but I really believe you might be overthinking this. I still think you should just ask Blaine out on Friday and see how things go between the two of you. You don't even have to say it's a date, to begin with: just go do something fun and I'm sure everything will fall into place."

"I suppose you're right," Kurt says.

"You two are going to work this out, I just know you are," Rachel says, smiling encouragingly and laying her hand over Kurt's.

Kurt breathes out slowly, nods, grips Rachel's hand back for a second. "Okay, okay," he says. "I'll text Blaine, see if he's free, though I think Friday he might have a roommate dinner or something…" He trails off as he looks around for his phone … which is being slid back across the table towards him by Santana. 

"Way ahead of you," she says cheerfully, sitting back in her chair with a look of self-satisfaction that's actually a little terrifying in its intensity.

Kurt looks down at his phone in horror. "What the hell did you do, Santana?"

Santana shrugs. "Just sent Blainey-bear a little invite for Friday night. Figured that was easier than sitting here with you for forty-five minutes while you figure out the exact wording and tone of a damn text message."

"You had no right—" Kurt starts to say, but before he can finish the sentence, his phone starts ringing. Kurt doesn't even need to look down at the screen to know that it's Blaine, and oh god what did Santana even _say_ to him that he's calling back this quickly?

"Hadn't you better answer that?" Santana says sweetly.

"You'll pay for this, she-devil," Kurt says as he makes a grab for his phone.

Santana just rolls her eyes and goes back to scouring the fried rice for leftover pineapple, discarding chunks of tofu on the side of her plate. Kurt doesn't even know why she orders it when she hates tofu so much.

He looks at the smiling picture of Blaine displayed on his phone, takes a second to breathe, and then picks up: "Hi, Blaine."

"Kurt?" Blaine sounds concerned, and kind of confused. "Is that you?"

Kurt's kind of confused, too. "Yeah, Blaine, it's me. Were you expecting someone else?"

"I don't know, I thought maybe your phone had been stolen or something, I got this really weird text from you just now."

Kurt winces. "Right, that was actually from Santana," he says. "She stole my phone."

"Oh," Blaine says. "Well, okay, that makes a lot more sense."

"Yeah, you know what she's like," Kurt says, ignoring the vaguely obscene gesture Santana makes in his direction. "Whatever she said, I'm sorry."

Blaine laughs softly. "It was … colourful, to say the least."

"I'm sure," Kurt says.

There's a little second of silence: Kurt can hear muffled sounds at Blaine's end, what sounds like explosions and gunfire. He seems to recall that Blaine was supposed to be having a gaming night with Sam and Artie, and feels bad for interrupting. He's about to make some excuse and get off the line when Blaine says: "Kurt, is there a reason Santana is stealing your phone and sending me obscene text messages? Other than, you know, her being Santana?"

And well, since Blaine's the one bringing it up: "Oh, um, yes, actually…" Kurt really doesn't want to have this part of the conversation in front of Rachel—who by this point is staring avidly at him, chin in hand—and definitely not Santana, so he gets up and goes over to his section of the loft. He hears Santana call out "Lame!" after him as he pulls the curtain closed.

"Well, I just wanted to know—I mean, I'm not sure if the message made this at all clear or if it was all just one big innuendo or whatever, but—" Kurt has never been this tongue-tied in his life, not even the very first time he and Blaine met and Blaine complimented him on his ensemble. He takes another breath, imagines Blaine smiling at him, soft and reassuring, and tries again: "Blaine. Would you like to go out Friday night. With me. Obviously. Not, just, out generally. Or with somebody else. With me, specifically. And only me. Not with Sam or Rachel or, _god_ , Tina or somebody tagging along and watching us like we're some kind of science experiment they're waiting to see yield meaningful results, I mean seriously—"

"Kurt," Blaine says gently, a not unwelcome interruption. "I would love to go out with you on Friday. That sounds wonderful."

"Oh, well, good," Kurt says, letting out the breath he didn't know he was holding. "That's good."

"Did you really think there was a chance I would say _no_?" Blaine asks.

"I … maybe had some reservations," Kurt says. He sits down on his bed, fiddling a little with the corner of one of his pillows. (Bruce has been back in his box for a while now, at least partly in anticipation of there maybe being a real, living boy in Kurt's bed again soon enough. He's glad to know his hope doesn't seem to have been unfounded.)

"Well, they were needless," Blaine says. "Of course my answer's yes, Kurt. As long as—I mean, this is a date, right? You're asking me out on a date?"

Kurt can't help the laugh that bursts out of him, joyful and bright. This is _happening_ , it really is. "Yeah, I definitely am."

"Well, then I'm glad," Blaine says. "Because I very much want to go out on a date with you, Kurt Hummel."

Kurt laughs again, feeling happier for it, lighter somehow. "That's good," he says, curling up on his side on the bed, pulling his knees into his chest. "That's very, very good."

Blaine's immediate and full-throated agreement is music to Kurt's ears.

.

On Friday evening, Kurt is standing in his room dressed in a robe and staring at the assortment of clothing laid out on his bed. He's not entirely sure when choosing an outfit became this hard for him, but he remembers doing this exact same thing when he and Blaine went on their _first_ first date, and he even did it that first time he and Adam went out for drinks, so apparently it's just that first dates rob him of his usually impeccable eye for an ensemble.

Just as he's settling on a waistcoat that'll go with the shoes he already has picked out, Santana comes striding in without so much as a cursory warning.

"The curtain means _privacy_ , Santana," Kurt says, more out of habit that any belief that the words will have any resonance with her.

Sure enough, Santana just huffs impatiently and says: "Whatever, twinkle toes, I peeked in first to make sure you weren't naked or anything."

"That's not even—" Kurt starts to say, but he cuts himself short when he looks up and sees how dressed up Santana is. Not that Santana ever really dresses down, even just hanging around the loft, but right now she's definitely dressed for a night out.

"Going somewhere nice?" Kurt asks.

Santana rolls her eyes. "I'm not crashing your date with the Littlest Warbler, if that's what you're thinking. Like I'd want to be anywhere near _that_ awkward mating dance when it gets started."

"I wasn't thinking that," Kurt says, though he kind of was, actually. He's still a little concerned that Rachel might adopt some kind of disguise tonight and follow them around with a camera.

"Anyway," Santana says, "I'm just here to tell you about the awesome favour I'm about to do for you, so listen up, 'cause you're still going to owe me for this one when the first of yours and Billy Bowtie's imported Filipino children graduates from college."

"Oh my god, can you even _hear_ yourself half the time?"

"More than I can hear you when your voice gets all high-pitched and indignant like that," Santana says. "Now do you want me to do you this favour or not?"

"That depends on what it is," Kurt says.

"Well, how about I'm going out tonight and taking Berry with me, and we won't be back until tomorrow morning at the earliest, leaving you free to bring Blaine home with you so that you guys can, you know, hold hands or bump noses or whatever it is you do behind closed doors."

Kurt blinks at her, slightly offended as well as mildly touched by the offer. "That's … good of you. What's the catch?" he says.

Santana rolls her eyes again. "No catch. Just don't do anything freaky in the communal areas and be aware that if you're in any kind of compromising position when we get back, that shit _is_ going up on Twitter."

"Are you actually going to let me know in advance when you're coming back?" Kurt asks, already pretty sure of what the answer's going to be.

Santana shakes her head.

"Okay, then, that's—thank you, I guess," Kurt says.

Santana shrugs, turning to leave again. "You're welcome."

A thought occurs to Kurt as he watches her swish through the curtain again: "Don't let Rachel do any shots this time."

He realises his mistake when, from the living room, he can hear Rachel clapping her hands and saying: "Ooh, shots!"

Suddenly he's a lot more aware of how much probably owes Santana for tonight.

.

Blaine has class until eight on a Friday, so they've agreed to eat dinner separately and then just meet up for drinks after Blaine's been home to shower and change.

Kurt had considered whether they should just go for coffee, but decided that was too mundane, or perhaps to a movie, but decided that sitting in a darkened room not speaking probably wasn't ideal. Besides, something about going for a drink in New York City feels grown-up in a thrilling sort of way, like they're leaving behind their high school relationship and starting something new. The prospect of a little bit of liquid courage also doesn't hurt, though Kurt's not likely to be taking Santana's advice about getting wasted to heart.

It's almost 9:30 by the time they meet. Blaine greets him with a smile and a hug, saying: "You look amazing," as he pulls back and sweeps his eyes up and down Kurt's body in a way that makes Kurt's stomach flutter in that old familiar way.

"Why, thank you," Kurt says, hoping that the flush he can feel on his cheeks isn't too obvious in the light from the streetlamps. "So do you."

Blaine does look _really_ good: not that he doesn't always, but tonight there's something about the pale, crisp colour of his shirt and the little bit of extra volume he's given his hair in the front that makes Kurt want to grab his by the lapels and kiss him silly. Perhaps that might be something they can work up to later tonight, but for now he just accepts Blaine's hand in his and walks them over to the bar.

It's one of Santana's regular haunts—which therefore by default has become one of Rachel and Kurt's—where one of the main advantages, aside from the giant rainbow flag outside, is they don't make a habit of looking too closely at anyone's ID. In Blaine's case this is truly a blessing, seeing as he's apparently still using the dreadful excuse for a forgery Sebastian had given him in high school.

"You're not?" Blaine says, once they're inside and he's slotted the offending article back into his wallet.

"No," Kurt says, holding his ID up for Blaine to take a look. "As soon as Santana became a permanent fixture she insisted Rachel and I needed an upgrade to something more convincing."

"Oh, wow, yeah, that's actually a picture of _you_ on there," Blaine says, sounding rather impressed.

"Not a _good_ picture, sadly," Kurt says as he puts it away and leads Blaine through the crowd over to the bar.

It's actually a lot louder in here than Kurt had anticipated. On previous occasions when they've come there's been a lot of chatter and some music in the background, but right now the music is almost overpowering and people are having to talk pretty loudly just to be heard. Kurt hopes once they're seated somewhere and away from the hubbub of the bar it'll be easier, but he's a little worried they might not really be able to talk to each other like he'd imagined.

Kurt doesn't drink a lot, still, but he's starting to know what he likes, and so he orders a gin and tonic without too much thought. Blaine, on the other hand, immediately starts looking through the ridiculously long menu of cocktails they have on offer, eventually settling on something tall and pink with a completely nonsensical name.

"Really, Blaine?" Kurt says, as Blaine orders his drink.

Blaine shrugs. "It's my first time out at a gay bar in New York City, Kurt, I've got to order something I'm going to remember."

The drink in question comes with a ton of fruit floating in it and no less than three cocktail umbrellas. It's also about the size of Blaine's head and has two straws sticking out of the top.

Blaine looks at him slightly sheepishly. "I guess this one's for sharing?" he says.

"Blaine Anderson, if you think I am going to help you drink any of that concoction then you are very much mistaken," Kurt says as he hands some cash over to the bartender.

Blaine pouts at him and picks out a piece of pineapple from the top, popping it into his mouth. Kurt tries not to laugh at how he splutters a little from the alcohol-laden fruit.

Of course, after half of the strongest gin and tonic Kurt's ever had, and ten minutes sat pressed up close to Blaine in the one corner of a booth where there was space for them, suddenly the prospect of a giant pink drink becomes a great deal more appealing, and it isn't long before Kurt is taking as many sips from the second straw as Blaine is taking from his. The taste is mostly of vodka and fruit, but it's not unpleasant, and Kurt will admit to liking the warm buzz he's starting to feel all over. 

What he doesn't like so much is how the music is, if anything getting even louder, and it's starting to be a real struggle to hear each other.

"See, I told you it was good," Blaine says, voice loud and close to Kurt's ear. When Kurt turns his head to look back at him, their noses just barely brush.

"I admit nothing," Kurt says, raising his voice as well. "I'm just trying to stop you from drinking the whole thing and ending up in the ER."

"Thanks, I appreciate that," Blaine says, laying his hand over one of Kurt's where it's resting on his leg underneath the table.

Kurt breathes in sharply at the touch, feels it all the way up his arm and across his chest before he turns his hand over so that he can intertwine his fingers with Blaine's.

"You're welcome," Kurt says, though he's not even sure Blaine hears him this time.

"It's pretty loud in here, huh?" Blaine practically shouts a moment later.

Kurt groans, letting his head fall back against the wall before he tilts it to one side so that he can look at Blaine. "I know, I'm sorry. I've never been here on a Friday before, I guess there's dancing?"

Sure enough, a small group of people have started gathering on the open area in the middle of the bar, cleared of tables and chairs, which Kurt presumes must double as a dancefloor on nights like this.

"We could go somewhere quieter?" Kurt says, leaning in close again to make himself heard. "If you want?"

Blaine tilts his head and says something Kurt doesn't catch. He gestures at Blaine to repeat himself.

Blaine grins and shakes his head, then leans in so close against Kurt's ear that Kurt can feel the damp brush of his lips. "Do you want to?" he asks.

Kurt presses his cheek up against Blaine's, breathes in the scent of his cologne and his hair gel and that damn pink fruity drink that seems to permeate everything right now. "We were supposed to talk," Kurt says after a moment.

"We were?" Blaine practically has Kurt cradled in his arms by this point, edging up along the seat so that they can hear each other better.

"Don't you think we should?" Kurt asks. He lifts his hand to hold Blaine's head in place, feels the fluttering of Blaine's pulse under his fingertips.

"We could do that," Blaine says, then finally pulls back so that Kurt can see his face again. He looks over at the dancefloor, then back to Kurt, eyes gleaming, with alcohol perhaps, but with something else entirely as well. "Or we could dance," he shouts.

Kurt raises his eyebrows at Blaine. "You want to dance?" he asks.

Blaine nods, then says: "With you. I want to dance with you."

Kurt leans in close again to say: "Well, you're certainly not dancing with anybody else here."

Blaine grins at him, bright and happy, and follows Kurt gladly out onto the dancefloor.

The music seems mostly to be a mix of pretty cheesy retro stuff, a lot of which they remember singing together in Glee practice. Kurt pulls Blaine into the old shimmy-shake that used to be his go-to move, and Blaine does a pretty good impression of Sam's patented body rolls that draws a few odd looks but which has Kurt laughing so hard he doesn't even really notice.

It feels wonderful, dancing with Blaine again. They used to do it so often, in Glee, of course, but also in their bedrooms and living rooms when they hung out after school: before they'd started actually having sex it had been the best way of being intimate they had, especially when a slow song had come on and Blaine would pull Kurt close into his arms and just sway with him, usually crooning the words of whatever song was playing softly into Kurt's ear. At Mr Schue's wedding-that-wasn't, it had been them dancing and singing together, as much as anything else, that had shown Kurt he wasn't even close to being over Blaine, and that maybe in fact he didn't entirely want to be.

Eventually, as more and more people start joining in on the dancefloor, it becomes necessary for them to dance a little closer, and then closer still, gradually moving in more and more until there's barely space enough between them to move separately with any ease.

Blaine reaches out first, partly just as a way of keeping them together when a slightly worse-for-wear patron stumbles into them on his way off the dancefloor and presumably towards the restrooms. Blaine grabs Kurt gently by the waist, pulls him in so that their bodies are pretty much flush against one another, but when the moment has passed he keeps his hands there, pressing against the small of Kurt's back where his shirt is damp and sticking to his skin.

Kurt's hands are at Blaine's shoulders, to steady himself in the crush. When Blaine moves to embrace him, though, Kurt winds his arms around Blaine's neck, touches his fingers to the sweat that's making Blaine's curls break free of the gel just above his collar. Their heads come to rest close to one another, and when looking at Blaine this close becomes almost too much to stand, Kurt lets his eyes slide shut.

They move like that, about as close as they can get without being undressed, and Kurt can feel the beat of the music and the beat of his heart, equally as strong, making him desperate to be closer still.

So it's Kurt that leans in first—leans in and kisses Blaine like he's wanted to all evening; like he's wanted to for weeks now, or months even; like he's wanted to ever since they first met; like he hopes he'll always want to.

It's a lot for one kiss, or for several kisses, which is what it quickly becomes, when Blaine kisses him back with as much fervour as Kurt hoped he would.

Soon enough they're not really even moving anymore, just standing wrapped up in one another and sharing breath, kissing and kissing and _kissing_ like they've never done it before. Kurt supposes they haven't really: not like this, not as these particular versions of themselves. It's something new and familiar all at once, and intoxicating either way.

The song changes, the crowd shifts: the two of them get bumped a little by some newcomers, and it's enough to break them out of their reverie and leave them staring dazedly at one another, breathing heavily and still so, so close.

"Hi," Blaine says, with a look of delight and perhaps, just slightly, of disbelief. Kurt needs to do his best to banish the latter, for sure.

"Oh," he says, wrapping his arms back around Blaine's neck, kissing him firmly once again. " _There_ you are."

.

They leave not long after that, practically falling out of the door with their arms round each other, no longer drunk but just giddy with each other, and when Kurt looks Blaine in the face and says: "Come home with me," it's as confident as he's ever felt that this is what he wants.

Blaine's smile, its slow blossom across his face like this request comes as heady relief, convinces Kurt it's undoubtedly what Blaine wants as well.

They restrain themselves on the train, trying not to touch or stand too close. They're still very aware of being in public, of needing to be careful, though it's hard when they've just come from a place where they were free to dance and touch and kiss as they liked, without care. 

Still, this is the real world, even if it's also New York, and so they maintain a friendly distance from one another right up until they make it through Kurt's front door, at which point the distance becomes smaller and smaller before finally, wrapped up as close as they could ever be in Kurt's bed, it becomes non-existent. 

Afterwards—after hands and mouths and the slick heavy press of Blaine's body against his—Kurt vetoes the idea of a shower when Blaine suggests it and curls them up in the sheets instead, resting his head close up under Blaine's chin. "We still need to talk, though," he says.

"I agree." Blaine's voice is soft, he sounds halfway off to sleep already. "But tonight I think we just needed to dance."

Kurt smiles, closing his eyes, ready to start drifting off himself. "I think maybe you're right."

.

In the morning, Kurt wakes with Blaine still close and warm next to him in the bed, hair a tousled mess and the rise and fall of his chest steady and slow as he sleeps on.

Kurt looks at the clock, then checks his phone: he has a courteous text from Rachel telling him that she's planning to take Santana out for brunch and they probably won't be home for several hours. 

Kurt pulls the covers up around them, snuggles in a little closer, kisses the tip of Blaine's nose. "I love you," he says into the quiet dim light of the morning.

Blaine snuffles, stirring in his sleep, and Kurt watches, waits for him to wake, so that when he does, they can talk and then, hopefully, begin anew.

It's going to be a good day.

 

**end**


End file.
